


The Drag of the Moment

by ALC_Punk



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trixie takes a moment for herself during the birth of a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drag of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/gifts).



> Plot sadly isn't my strong suit. I hope you enjoy this, I really liked writing it.

It was going to be a long one. 

Trixie took a moment for herself, standing on the landing; cigarette in hand, she drew in a deep lungful of smoke and just held it. Letting it out covered the slight scent of stale sweat and urine that always seemed to accompany the buildings in the close-quartered area around the wharf. If she sucked in a deep enough breath without aid of her fag, there'd be rotting fish and the tang of brackish water, too. 

Behind her, she could hear the chatter and sound of a family preparing for a baby--the younger children were still dashing back and forth in one of the hallways. A shout heralded the arrival of a cousin, trying to restore order amongst them and failing--the running continued on. In the living room, a giant room that doubled as their dining space, the adults chattered or paced as their nature demanded. The adults had steadier treads, none panicked, except possibly the father's. They always tended to pace more energetically than other men did. 

From the bedroom came the distant shuffle of slippers and saddle-shoes as Mary's mother walked her round the room, kept her on her feet. There was a measured cadence to the words Jane spoke to keep her calm that Trixie felt more than heard. Panic was easier to keep at bay if you were calm yourself. Mary wasn't a new mother, but this birth had already been hard with one scare to put them on their toes. 

"I had a bad time of it with me fourth one, too," Jane had said, eyes dark with memories while Trixie wrote down her notes and Mary slept in the bed, quiet again. Her color was finally normal and her temperature had stabilized. "'Course, it wasn't so--y'know, then."

"We've made great strides since then, yes." Trixie had agreed, guessing Mrs. Richards' meaning without the words.

Midwifery hadn't been butchery, even in Jane's era, but it had still been more primitive. Then again, as some of the sisters had been known to say, women had been having children since Eve walked God's Earth and it wasn't as though the mechanisms of the body had changed in that time. 

They were still just as reliant on the mother in this new-fangled age of pop stars and hospitals with doctors to assist. Even with the new surgical techniques, there was nothing that couldn't be done without a mother's health taken into account. If she were sickly or poor, the babe would be, too. If she were happy... well, Trixie didn't think babies were happy about _anything_ right after being born, but one never could tell, could one.

"And I say it's going to be a boy!" Two of the younger children tumbled out onto the landing, not quite startling her. Anne and Harry, if she recalled. Bright and intelligent with a million questions. The sort of precociousness that left Trixie thinking children of her own wouldn't be quite so bad. Harry smacked the paneling as though emphasizing his point. 

He wasn't more than five, Anne was four, and she noticed Trixie first, skidding to a halt. "Eh, it's gon' be a girl, Harr'."

Drawing on her fag again, Trixie blew out the breath to the side and hunkered down slightly. Her voice was low, conspiratorial, when she said, "Are you sure about that?"

"'Course she ain't!" Hooting, Harry grabbed one of Anne's braids and yanked. "Silly-Annie-Silly-Annie--"

On the other hand, perhaps precociousness in small children wasn't that attractive. Trixie reached out and touched his hand. "Now, I'm sure you're a gentleman, Master Harry."

That gave him pause. He frowned up at her, then looked at the braid still in his hand. 

Anne, for her part, began warbling, the prelude to what would probably be a mountain of sobbing unless Trixie could head it off. There definitely didn't need to be hysterical children on top of a baby being born. Though that was a rather fanciful notion that Trixie didn't think she wanted to attempt to picture.

"Wha's a gen'l'man?"

Beginning to pull at his fingers, careful of the little girl's hair, Trixie replied cheerfully, "Someone who doesn't pull on their sister's hair."

Harry made an impressively dour face for one so young, though he loosened his grip all the same. "That sounds _dumb_."

"Yes, I'm sure it would. Still, you are going to let her go and behave yourself today." Really, reasoning with small children never did go very well. Trixie put on her best smile in hopes it would distract him as she pulled the last of the braid free. 

Wrinkling his nose, Harry shook his head, then grabbed for Anne's shoulder, "C'mon, Anne. Let's race to the top!"

Looking after them as they raced up the stairs, Trixie wondered if she'd ever had that sort of energy herself. Probably, though she didn't recall chasing her own brother around _quite_ that much. Then again, she'd been more likely to make mud pies with as little fuss and mess as possible, if she recalled (she firmly pretended not to remember her mother's many admonitions about _dirt and mud_ on her pinafores).

She pursed her lips and drew one last drag off the cigarette, thumb brushing the lipstick marks she'd left on the filter. 

One day, perhaps she'd be as glamorous as Elizabeth Taylor. 

Stubbing out the still-smoking end, she squared her shoulders. Miss Taylor wasn't about to go deliver a baby, however. She would probably have an assistant to do that. 

A grin crossed Trixie's mouth as she considered the possibilities of hiring someone else to have the baby for you after you'd carried it to term. Really, medical technology would have to catch up with the idea sooner or later!

"Nurse!" The call came from inside the apartment and Dennis, the father of the currently-awaited bundle of joy, stuck his head out to locate her. He relaxed as soon as he did. "Sounds like it's starting to get a little rough in there."

"Thank you, Dennis." Walking up to him, she touched his shoulder and gave him her best reassuring smile. "She'll be fine."

No promises; there were never promises in life. But the confidence in her words and tone would see them all through the night.

A piercing cry came from the bedroom. 

"Goodness," she murmured as she headed for the interior room, "Someone's very eager."

Perhaps it wouldn't be a long night after all.


End file.
